LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

behind him, watching him as if he should be in a mental ward.

      Quinn pulled down the stairs that led to the attic and quickly climbed up them.

      At first, he could see nothing. The attic was lit only by a single dormer window and his eyes had to adjust.

      Then he heard a scream of horror behind him. Danni had followed him up. She was pointing.

      He blinked, and then he saw it. In the shadowed space that fell just to the side of the window, there was a body swinging from the rafters.

      He rushed to it, lifting the slim form of Gladys Simon so that the rope around her neck could no longer strangle her. He held her, dug in his pocket for his knife and cut the thick cord, easing Gladys down to the wooden floor. He straddled her, desperate to perform CPR.

      But he’d been a cop—and he’d been around.

      Gladys was gone.

      He kept up his efforts, anyway. He could be wrong....

      He vaguely heard Danni calling the police. And he felt her hand on his shoulder.

      “She’s dead,” Danni said softly.

      He knew it was true.

      He sat back on his haunches, bitterly ruing the time it had taken to reach her. When Danni touched him again, he jerked away.

      At that moment, he hated her as much as he hated himself.

      * * *

      Danni felt disjointed.

      Horrified and disjointed. The morning had started out like any other—and now she was sitting in the parlor of an uptown home while police and paramedics moved in and out, listening to Bertie cry and Quinn speak with a detective in controlled tones. The way he’d looked at her when he’d given up on resuscitating Gladys had cut her to the core. She felt tremendous guilt, and anger that she should feel that way. She had come when he’d told her to come. She couldn’t have known the woman was going to commit suicide! And she had called the police, and they’d promised to send social services out to investigate.

      She was still sitting here—waiting, as the police had asked—feeling as if the earth had tilted slightly off its axis.

      She wanted to leave, to go home, forget the horror of seeing Gladys Simon’s body swaying in the shadows, forget she’d seen the woman’s face when Quinn had brought her down.

      She’d never forget it, though. Something was unalterably changed and she hated it.

      “What do you know about this?”

      She startled to awareness; the detective—a man named Jake Larue—was standing beside her, looking down at her.

      She raised her hands. “I don’t know anything. I wish I did. Mrs. Simon came into my shop today, swearing that a bust her husband had bought had killed him. She was extremely agitated. I called the police—not the emergency line, she wasn’t walking around with a knife or a gun—and I was assured someone was going to see to her.” Her words sounded defensive, like an excuse. They were an excuse.

      Could she have said or done anything that would have saved the woman’s life?

      Larue turned to Quinn, shaking his head. “She was bereft. Her husband had just died. You’re trying to tell me she didn’t kill herself?”

      “No, I believe she might well have killed herself, but if anyone can answer that question for sure, it’ll be the medical examiner. We searched the house before we found her. The police response when Ms. Cafferty called in the death was excellent—I think a cruiser was here in two or three minutes. No one was crawling around the house or the grounds. I didn’t, however, get into the garage,” Quinn said.

      “I have men searching the area now, but if she did kill herself, there’s no reason to expect that someone was in the house.”

      “But someone was in here,” Quinn said with certainty.

      Larue groaned. “You just said she killed herself.”

      “Yes, I believe she did.”

      “Then why would anyone have been here?” Larue asked, his eyes narrowed. Danni noted that he wasn’t looking at Quinn as if he was crazy; instead, Larue looked as if he wanted to groan again, sink down in a chair and clamp his head between his hands. He held his ground, though, only a long breath escaping him as he stared at Quinn.

      “The bust is gone,” Quinn told him.

      “The bust...the bust that supposedly killed Hank Simon?” Larue asked skeptically.

      Quinn nodded. “Mrs. Simon was convinced it killed her husband.”

      “And you think a bust killed her, too?” Larue asked.

      “It doesn’t matter what I think. What matters is what was in her head. If she believed the bust killed him, she might have believed it would kill her,” Quinn said. He shrugged. “Or worse—maybe she believed it would have some kind of dangerous effect on her...I don’t know. I can only say she was acting very erratically and that’s why I came here. I’d seen her in the French Quarter, and to my deepest regret, it seems she was in a far worse frame of mind than I’d imagined.”

      Larue sighed. “Quinn, it’s going to get more and more complicated, isn’t it? Every time you’re involved—”

      “Wait!” Quinn protested. “You’re the one who asked me to check on Vic Brown and his raving about the bust, remember?”

      “I’m not publicizing the fact that I brought you in, you know,” Larue reminded him.

      Quinn grinned and nodded slightly.

      “We were partners once,” Larue explained to Danni.

      “He’s a good cop,” Quinn said. “A really good cop.”

      “And Quinn is a damned good investigator, but I am a cop and...well, police forces all over sometimes call on P.I.s. With Quinn, I know it’s cool because even if he doesn’t make big bucks on a case like this, he’s going to be okay financially.”

      Danni sensed that Quinn could feel her looking at him curiously. “I have a trust fund from my grandmother, who managed to buy just the right stocks at the right time,” he explained. “So I’m okay when I work on something that doesn’t involve a paying client. Something I’m interested in. And I’m always available for Larue when he needs a little help.”

      “Thank God, since the force isn’t rolling in money and I’m going to be stretching the budget to the limit to bring in the overtime on this. I can already see it coming!” Larue turned to Danni. “Thanks to Quinn,” he added.

      “But you have to admit it’s worth it. Because I’m usually a step ahead, and you know I do my damnedest to get answers,” Quinn finished for him.

      Larue was silent for a minute, then sighed again.

      Danni was surprised. She’d never imagined that Quinn was actually accepted by the police force—a force he’d left.

      “All right,” Larue said briskly. “So you figure this bust—which Mrs. Simon believes killed her husband—is missing? That someone broke into the house as she was killing herself and stole it?”

      “I don’t know if the thief broke in before or after she killed herself, but whoever stole it might have been ready to kill for it, anyway,” Quinn told Larue.

      Danni spoke up. “No one needed to kill her for the bust. She wanted it out of the house. She would’ve given it to anyone who asked.”

      Both of them looked at her—as if they’d forgotten she was there.

      “Yes, she wanted it gone,” Quinn agreed. “But the person who stole it might not have known she was desperate to get rid of it. That’s irrelevant. We were too late, the bust is gone and there’ll be more deaths over it.”

      “You’ve

Скачать книгу